Glitter
by The Petulant Prodigy
Summary: Ichigo wants to kill himself. He is interrupted by a strange blue-haired boy with copious amounts of glitter. AU Yaoi OOC Grimmjow, obviously


_This story was born because everyone should be themselves, whether they like it or not. -TPP_

**...**

**-Glitter-**

**...**

The pizza is slimy. I take another bite, and another, and another, until it's gone.

I wipe the grease from my hands onto the cheap jean material that covers my thighs.

I'm sitting on an old corporate building's rooftop on an abandoned plastic delivery crate, watching the sky turn a bipolar shade of orange and that color that's somewhere between red and gray.

I think to myself, _I'm not full._

I'm a skinny guy. Not scrawny, but I'd never been proportional. Puberty left me with legs that felt too long and hands that were too big, but my fingers have always been long and more slender like a girl's. I inherited my mother's riotous orange hair and my father's stubborn mouth.

I chug the last of my strawberry soda, crumpling the can in one righteous fist, wondering why I still feel hungry.

I throw the can towards the edge of the roof, the tin clanking loudly as it bounces off the concrete, mocking me.

I stand up, approach the can, then kick it hard, watch it fly into a disgusting alleyway full of garbage and piss.

There is no ledge bordering this building's rooftop. It's an extremely old building in a slummy part of town. I had already decided that twelve stories would suffice, would have to be high enough to jump from.

This is the reason I am here.

_I am going to kill myself._

It sounds blasé, dramatic, overdone. Angst-ridden teenager. Confused, feeling abandoned, alone, unloved.

So it's bullshit that I'm doing this.

I have a loving family, good grades, a trustworthy circle of friends. I play sports. I'm borderline genius in math and don't suffer in my other courses. I'm fluent in two languages. I dated a girl last year who was pretty, smart, and witty.

I'm well rounded. I'm generally well liked.

_I am out of excuses._

My low-top Chucks kiss the edge of the building, as the upsurge of air ruffles my orange hair, pushing my thick bangs out of my face.

This is the right thing to do.

I don't even have to convince myself of this.

A voice interrupts my internal struggle for peace.

"Yo, you got a lighter?"

My spine stiffens and I take a step back, my eyes roam the roof for the owner of the voice.

My eyes widen slightly as I recognize him and he recognizes me.

I recognize him from homeroom: an outcast, of sorts. Cotton candy blue hair looking wild, the light of the setting sun confirming that yes, today he has chosen to make his hair even more unforgettable by adding silver glitter. _Glitter. As if he needs to draw more attention to his exotic looks. _He's not that far away from me, close enough for me to notice the thick teal blue shimmer eyeliner rimming his sky blue eyes. His outfit is familiar to me: a green and black striped t-shirt and a pair of skintight grey jeans that are ripped in the knees. His belt is bright yellow, almost as bright as the yellow-and-pink Bathing Apes on his feet.

I watch him reach into his back pocket, retrieving a smashed-up carton of cigarettes, pulling one free as he cocks his head, waiting for an answer.

"No," I say dully, wondering why the hell Grimmjow Jaegerjaques is here of all places.

He doesn't belong in the slums. Neither do I, really, but somehow I feel cheated.

He interrupted my suicide.

I blink and he blinks back, then he sighs rather dramatically. I notice his nails are painted a glitter emerald green as he places the unlit cigarette behind his right ear, pushing his hair back enough to reveal a dark blue star tattooed onto the lobe.

"What teenage pot head doesn't carry a lighter on them?" he asks, leaning against a rusted air-conditioning unit, his blue eyes boring into me.

"I'm not a pot head."

He lifts a pierced eyebrow, smirking, "Didn't say 'ya were."

"But you just said…"

"Jus' fucking with you," he says with a snort, approaching me slowly now, hands in his front pockets. Quite the feat, considering how tight they are.

He is taller than me, but not much bigger. He isn't bulky, built more like a swimmer, thin and lean. His skin is richer than mine, more olive. Despite his hair, he looks more Japanese than I do.

"Why are you here?" I ask. I'm irritated.

"Come here to get high," he says with a shrug, his eyes so intense I feel like hiding, "My lighter ran out, so that enticing idea is currently fucked. You?"

I shrug. It feels unnatural, "I don't know."

Grimmjow smiles, a tilted smirk that makes my stomach roll. Maybe the pizza wasn't settling properly, "Ya know, there are easier ways to kill yourself."

My entire body stiffens. I suck in a breath, trying to think of a retort, something, anything to say. That he was wrong, that he must have misunderstood. I open and close my mouth several times. Nothing comes out.

"My mom tried to kill me once," he says rather wistfully, "tried to drown me in the bathtub. I was eight. They took her away. A year later, I came home from school and found my dad had decided to paint his bedroom wall with his brains."

I'm staring at him, feeling horrified, wrong, but he doesn't stop, "Did you know orphanages are like prisons for children? They have gangs, too. Did you know that? This one time, an older boy cornered me with a pair of scissors and made me suck his…"

"Stop," I say, my throat constricting, "Just stop."

Grimmjow's eyes laugh at me. I scowl.

"Still wanna kill yourself?"

"Why do you even care?"

"I don't."

And I don't believe him.

This is the moment I mark as the beginning of us, of me and him.

I already love him.

I just don't know it yet.

…

Grimmjow grins at me, waving a one-dollar bill in my face. I don't know why he has American currency.

"Come on, Ichi. Come on."

"No. That's stupid."

He pouts. I can't stand it when he pouts. We've been inseparable for weeks now. The school eventually quieted down about our sudden new friendship. I mean, who connects with someone like this halfway through the school year?

But Grimmjow is used to being called a faggot and a lot of other words that I hadn't known about. It doesn't bother him. Barely anything does.

But what he wants me to do right now with that one-dollar bill is just crazy stupid, completely juvenile, and pretty gross.

He fixes me with a serious look, both his hands resting on my shoulders, a comfortable weight. My heart is in my throat.

"This is something you will remember for the rest of your life."

The mock-serious tone of his voice makes me snort. I know he is serious, or as serious as Grimmjow can get.

"Fine, whatever."

Grimmjow cackles with glee before I kick him out of the public bathroom so that I can shit in silence.

Approximately five minutes later, Grimmjow and I are sitting on a park bench, the dollar bill lying rolled up like a burrito on a pathway.

We wait patiently. It doesn't take long.

An older man walking a dog comes across it soon enough, the dog sniffing at it before the man bends down to pick it up.

A look of disgust crosses his face before he drops it.

I feel a twinge of embarrassment.

Grimmjow jumps up off of the bench, arms in the air, his eyes wide as he bellows "poop dollar!" in English.

The man hurries away with his dog. We laugh like idiots.

…

"Truth or dare?"

"Truth," Grimmjow sighs, finished with what had to be his ninth beer.

We were currently sprawled out on the floor of my basement, both of us borderline shit-faced. It was well past midnight on a Saturday, graduation only weeks away. Grimmjow practically lives at my house by this point, although I had never been to his and wasn't sure if I ever would. I was curious, of course, but there was something about having him in my house all the time, being a part of my family, that makes me never think about it too much.

"That day on the roof…did you make all that shit up?"

Grimmjow's grin is slow as molasses, "My mom's an elementary school teacher and my dad's an insurance broker. My mom's never even given me a spanking, although she is pretty bat-shit insane."

Suddenly I am laughing too hard to breathe, "You…you ass!"

When we can breathe properly again, Grimmjow sits up Indian style, elbow resting on his knee, chin resting on fist, "Truth or dare?"

The alcohol is really getting to me.

I tell myself this over and over again before I answer, "Dare."

"Kiss me."

…

"Fuck!"

"Mm, yeah, baby."

I choke out a scream. I feel like I am going to die, "Stop! Oh shit oh fuck oh fuck…"

"Just a bit longer."

"I can't!"

Grimmjow distracts me with a smoldering kiss, his tongue invading my mouth and making me forget about the searing pain in my ass.

"You're too big!" I hiss, feeling like his ungodly cock is going to rend me in two.

"Hush," he sooths, littering my face with soft kisses, his hips rocking in slight circles, "Let me find it…"

"What the fuck are you looking f - oh!" I shudder, my stomach muscles contracting as my groin floods with heat. I gasp, arch my back, my head slamming back against the pillows, my hands gripping at Grimmjow's forearms, "Oh…oh my god…"

"Grimm is fine," he says huskily, nipping at my bottom lip as he angles himself and slams deep inside me, "although the sentiment is appreciated."

"Fuck you!"

"Mmm, maybe later."

…

"Ichigo, there's something I have to tell you."

I snap my head up, my college lecture notes completely forgotten. After graduation, we'd managed to scrape enough money together to get a flat not too far from the college campus.

He'd been straightening his hair lately, the blue locks nearly reaching the middle of his back these days. He was currently sitting on the couch in Chappy Bunny pink pajama pants, his kohl-rimmed eyes looking tired from his late night shift at the club the night before.

We've been officially together for, what, two and a half years now?

"Come here," Grimmjow says, patting the spot on the couch next to him. The t.v. was on low on some talk show Grimmjow loved, but neither of us were paying attention to it now.

Internally, I was panicking, "What's wrong?"

"I don't know how to tell you this…" Grimmjow began, his hand kneading at his forehead.

I put my hand on his knee, hoping my face looks reassuring, "Grimm, what's going on?"

Grimmjow looks directly at me, making my heart stutter as his eyes swallow up my vision.

"Ichigo, I think I'm pregnant."

For several seconds, somehow, I believe him. Then realization dawns, the anatomic impossibility registering in my brain. I tackle him, completely outraged, my fist pummeling into his side, "You ASS hole!"

"Your face! Oh my god, ha ha ha! Priceless!"

"I thought you were breaking up with me, you stupid, stupid moron!"

Grimmjow stops laughing and tackles me against the cushions of the couch, climbing on top of me and staring down at me like I have shot a puppy, "Don't be an idiot."

It's impossible to say anything stupid when you're suddenly being kissed into oblivion.

…


End file.
